Joyriding
by VerizonHorizon
Summary: Autumn. Iowa. Sunsets. Motorcycles. Spock in leather. A sweet first kiss story.


_Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters do not belong to me, and no profit is being made. Warning: Vegetarians wearing leather. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

It was a gorgeous fall day in Iowa. They'd been on shore leave for a few days already, and Jim had rented a bike (he'd sold his upon joining Starfleet) to do some good, old-fashioned joyriding through the endless kilometers of corn fields. The wide open plains of the Midwest were rich and bountiful as befit harvest time, and the autumn air was as crisp and clean as he remembered it from his youth. It was a great way to do some thinking.

It was also a great way to do absolutely no thinking at all. Not much could compete with the feeling of going fast with the powerful motor thrumming between your legs, the wind blowing through you hair, and the sheer sense of freedom.

He got all that from riding the motorcycle, and he'd tried to explain it to his First Officer. What he got in return was doubt: _"I do not understand the appeal. 'Joyriding' as you describe has no purpose. No destination. What gratification can be achieved?"_

Well, there was only one way to answer that.

Invite him for a ride.

And that's why he was standing here now just before sunset at the local transport where he'd pick up Spock and take him on his first joyride. During their conversation three days ago, he'd suggested a time and place, and Spock had agreed. "_It's a date,"_ Jim had said, giving his First Officer a wink. Spock's face hadn't twitched a muscle in response.

The cool air was actually getting a bit nippy. Jim pulled his brown leather bomber jacket a little more snuggly around his loose t-shirt. He was wearing his favorite old pair of jeans, a bit worn in the knees but not quite stressed enough to be ripped. Belatedly, he wished he had told Spock to wear some extra layers, like a scarf and hat or something. At least a sweater and coat. He knew his Vulcan First Officer tended to get cold since he was used to desert (or even San Fran) temperatures. He figured Spock would just wear his science uniform or academy casuals. That's all Jim had ever seen him in, and neither were going to be warm enough.

He tapped the kickstand impatiently before hearing the gentle hum of a landing shuttlecraft. He hopped off the bike and leaned against it, holding a helmet for Spock in his hands.

Of course, the shuttlecraft landed on the west end of the transport, so Jim couldn't make out anything beyond the bright setting sun. Finally, he saw a dark form emerging like a shadow from the blinding light. A shadow that was coming towards him. Jim raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun's rays and squinted to see who he assumed was Spock striding across the pad.

He blinked again. It couldn't be Spock. This guy looked like a total badass, one of the local rough riders that Jim used to get in some good fights with back before he'd turned respectable. The figure was hard to see in detail, blinded as Jim was from the sun, but he could make out leather. Lots of leather. Black leather boots that came up nearly to the knees, tucked in over black leather pants by the looks of it. Who wore leather pants though? Certainly not ready to rumble biker dudes, though occasionally some sexy, tough biker chicks. But the narrow hips suggested the approaching leather-clad vision was male. The guy was getting closer, and Jim was thinking he was gonna have to be ready to turn down an offer or get ready for a tussle. His eyes roved further up, taking in the tight black leather jacket. It wasn't like Jim's loose bomber coat. This jacket was prim and sporty, modern, fitted like a glove, and zipped all the way up to the neck. A very pale neck. A very pale neck that was attached to a familiar head.

"Spock?" Jim's jaw dropped, and he gaped at his First Officer completely encased in leather.

Spock walked right up to him and Jim could actually _hear_ the leather squeaking and shifting with his every move. "Were you expecting someone else?" Spock asked. His voice lacked overt inflection as usual, but Jim knew it was meant to be teasing.

Jim tilted his head and held out the helmet, black with a clear visor. "Not someone else, but _something_ else, that's for sure." He raked his eyes up and down Spock's tall frame, then gave his First Officer an inquiring look.

"You refer to my riding attire." Spock gave the helmet a cursory examination and put it on his head. Fastening the strap, he explained, "I was given to understand that this is conventional motorcycle riding attire. Am I in error?"

Jim contorted his face and opened his mouth. But no words came out. He shook his head. "No, Spock. I guess you're not. It's actually a very logical outfit."

Jim swung his leg over to mount the bike. He gestured Spock to the seat behind him, patting the leather in invitation. Spock surveyed the bike. He also surveyed Jim. "My research suggested that bikers wear leather as the desired textile for this activity, because it may reduce the severity of burns that result from skidding during crashes." Spock reached out and touched Kirk's jacket. "Yet you wear only this item of leather. You also wear no helmet."

"Yeah, well, we're not going to crash," Jim explained and reassured at the same time. "Hop on."

Spock brought his other arm to hold onto Jim's shoulder and swung onto the bike. His leathered form molded to Kirk's back, and hands drifted down to lock around Jim's waist.

Jim suddenly remembered he had brought shades along after all, and pulled them out of his jacket pocket. He slipped them on his face, then released the kickstand and revved the engine. The satisfying _vroom vroom_ roared beneath him. He looked back when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He yelled, "What?"

Spock raised his eyebrows behind the visor. Jim sighed and killed the engine. He then asked again in his normal voice, "What?"

"Do not most cyclists have communicators in their helmets? How are we going to converse over the noise of the engine?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't use those things. You're not supposed to talk. You're supposed to enjoy the ride."

"Ah. I understand," Spock replied in a way that made it perfectly evident he did _not_ understand.

"Just hold on to me and try to relax," Jim suggested. Spock's hands skimmed along his waist in a pleasantly distracting way, and Jim started the engine again. This time, after the bike gave a few purrs and there were no interruptions, Jim hit the pedal and off they zoomed.

They sped down a lonely road. The beauty of Iowa was that even after centuries of settlement, there were still wide, open spaces where you could ride for kilometers and never encounter another soul. As they zipped along parallel to the deep, rosy orange sunset, Jim enjoyed the catch of the breeze in his hair, the view of the horizon stretching forever in front of him, the strong hands laced around him. Spock's body was plastered to his as if they were one person. Jim didn't know if Spock's 'research' had told him this was the proper way to ride twosome or whether the Vulcan found it natural. He assumed it wasn't out of fear. Few things scared his First Officer, and a bit of wind, speed, and adrenaline didn't make the cut.

Jim didn't know exactly how long they'd been riding, but the sun was nearly halfway down. He pulled over so they could stretch a bit before making the ride back to the transport. Killing the bike's loud, rumbling engine resulted in a serene silence. Behind him, Spock removed his helmet and Jim tucked his sunglasses back in his jacket while he waited for Spock to hop off so that he could hop off too. It was so quiet that Jim could hear Spock's soft breaths over his shoulder and the sound of leather rubbing against leather as Spock shifted on the narrow seat.

The chin coming to rest on his left shoulder was unexpected. And intimate. Jim desperately wanted to know what was going through Spock's head. Was this an come-on? Was Spock making a move on him? There'd been plenty of sexual tension between them lately. Or, at least, Jim had interpreted it that way. The almost-smiles on Spock's face, just for him. The occasional brushing of body parts against each other in innocuous circumstances, like at their Bridge stations. Their heated disagreements and passionate debates, getting them both so riled up that it felt like something _had_ to yield, had to give, or they'd simply combust under the mounting pressure. And now Spock was embracing him. But Jim didn't want to risk misconstruing his First Officer's actions. Hell, they were on a bike. There wasn't much room to maneuver, and he hadn't explicitly said the plan was to get off and stretch. He waited with baited breath to see if Spock would do anything else. For his own part, he was definitely interested.

Jim was disappointed when Spock's hands unclenched from around his waist. But then the long-fingered hands reached for his own, taking them and carefully pulling them back to settle on Spock's leather-clad thighs. Spock's hands were laying flat over the tops of his own, gently pressing them into firm muscles, and Spock entwined their fingers. Jim's breath sped up and there was a tingling in his groin. Spock guided Jim's hands in a slow moving caress on the buttery leather encasing Spock's legs, rubbing up and down the slinky material. Jim made a low, indistinguishable sound in the back of his throat. The weight of Spock's chin on his shoulder disappeared and was replaced with the sensation of warm lips ghosting over his exposed neck. "Spock," Jim exhaled his name like a plea, a prayer, but what Jim was praying for he didn't exactly know. He just knew he wanted more.

Jim tilted his head back and their lips met in a soft first kiss. Spock's slightly thinner lips fit perfectly between Jim's own, and he sucked on the bottom one, pulling it out into a swollen pout. He couldn't resist giving it a small nip, making it swell even fuller. Spock's tongue sought his, and the tips of pink muscles met in a friendly press through lightly parted lips. Jim opened his lips wider to grant entrance and Spock eagerly followed. His tongue explored Jim's mouth, grazing the line of his teeth then wrapping in a rather talented contortion around Jim's own tongue. Jim moaned into the kiss and squeezed Spock's thighs, earnest in his desire. He twisted in the seat of the bike, wanting to return Spock's embrace, but the angle was all wrong.

Making a snap decision, the kind he was best at, he leaned forward to slide off the bike and quickly remounted it backwards. Now facing Spock, he took the Vulcan in his arms. Their leather jackets rubbed against one another making indecently provocative squeaking sounds as they resumed their kiss. Jim wanted to hear Spock whimper like _he_ had. He slipped his tongue into Spock's yielding mouth and it was like entering a sauna. All steamy and hot. He moaned again and led their tongues in a new dance, neither really trying to control the kiss, just letting their intentions and passions reveal themselves in this new, very welcomed, way.

They continued to gift each other with achingly slow, toe-curling kisses. Neither pressed for more, wanting to fully enjoy the moment. They kept their bodies close, but didn't thrust. Mutually they caressed backs and arms and sides, the layer of leather like butter under their fingertips, as soft as their entangled tongues.

By the time Jim opened his eyes to look into Spock's, he realized the sun was almost completely set. The bike had a headlight, of course, but it would be best if they got back to the transport before the full dark of rural night. He planted a light kiss on Spock's lips then on each of his flushed cheeks. He wanted to say something eloquent. Something meaningful. Something to tell Spock that this wasn't a one-off, that he wanted more from him, wanted everything from him.

But the warm sparkle in Spock's brown eyes told him he didn't have to say anything. For once, they were in unerring accord. Jim thought maybe their clasped hands had something to do with it, given Spock's touch telepathy. And then, the most incredible thing happened.

The corners of Spock's mouth turned up in a small, sweet smile.

Jim smiled back widely. If he looked like a sap, he didn't care.

In the companionable quiet of nightfall, they rode back to the transport. Spock's scheduled shuttlecraft was already there, and Jim pulled to a stop a few meters out of view.

"Did you like joyriding?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Very much so. I found the experience most stimulating." Spock all but smirked at him, the word choice an arrant understatement.

"Well, we did add a few things to the usual routine," Jim pointed out, unable to resist brushing his hand through Spock's helmet-hair to smooth it down.

Spock took his hand and held it tightly in his own. "I approve of the upgraded status."

"Me too," Jim softly agreed, certain they were talking about the same thing.

"I know," Spock said and it came out somewhat arrogantly, but then Jim looked to their joined hands and realized Spock meant that he was picking up on Jim's genuine emotions. The small hint of smile graced Spock's face again, then their hands dropped to their sides.

Spock turned and walked towards the shuttlecraft. Jim watched him go. He'd see him again soon. On their ship. Their beautiful, impressive ship on which together they would navigate their newly acknowledged feelings. And both he and Spock were damn good navigators.


End file.
